You find both here. I know thy real life; We do not see the truth--or, O, how little! Pure light sometimes through painted windows streams; And, when all's dark around thee, thou art fair! Thou bear'st within an ever-burning lamp, To me more sacred than a vestal's shrine; For she may be of heartless chastity, False in all else, and proud of her poor ice, As though 'twere fire suppress'd; but thou art good For goodness' sake;--true-hearted, lovable, For truth and honour's sake; and such a woman, That man who wins, the gods themselves may envy. CECILIA (_going_). Considering all things, this is bitter sweet. MARLOWE. And I may come? (_following her_) CECILIA (_firmly_). You shall not. MARLOWE. I obey you. CECILIA (_tenderly_). Ah! Kit Marlowe,-- You think too much of me--and of yourself Too little! MARLOWE. Then I may----(_advancing_) CECILIA (_firmly_). No--no! MARLOWE. Wilt promise To see me for one "good night" ere you sleep? CECILIA. On my way home I will. (_She turns to look at him--then steps through the Window--Exit_.) MARLOWE. Be sure--be sure! (HEYWOOD _and_ MIDDLETON _approach_.) HEYWOOD. Now, Marlowe!--you desert us! MARLOWE. Say not so;-- Or, saying so, add--that I have lost myself! Nay, but I _have_; yonder I go in the dark! (_pointing after_ CECILIA) _Street Music._--JACCONOT, _singing outside._ Ram out the link, boys; ho, boys![685] There's daylight in the sky! While the trenchers strew the floor, And the worn-out grey beards snore, Jolly throats continue dry! Ram out the link, boys, &c. MIDDLETON. What voice is that? MARLOWE (_through his teeth_). From one of the hells. HEYWOOD. The roystering singer approaches. _Enter_ JACCONOT, _with a full tankard._ JACCONOT. Ever awake and shining, my masters! and here am I, your twin lustre, always ready to herald and anoint your pleasures, like a true Master of the Revels. I ha' just stepped over the drawer's body, laid nose and heels together on the door-mat, asleep, and here's wherewith to continue the glory! MIDDLETON. We need not your help. HEYWOOD. We thank you, Jack-o'-night: we would be alone. JACCONOT. What say _you_, Master Marlowe? you look as grim as a sign-painters' first sketch on a tavern bill, after his ninth tankard. MIDDLETON. Cease your death-rattle, night-hawk! MARLOWE. That's well said. JACCONOT. Is it? So 'tis my gallants--a night-bird like yourselves, am I. MARLOWE. Beast!--we know you. JACCONOT.